


A Face In The Crowd

by Marblez



Category: Birdsong (BBC 2012), Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, World War I, period-typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14717834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marblez/pseuds/Marblez
Summary: A familiar face in the crowd prompts an unwanted stroll down memory lane for our favourite Shelby brothers…





	A Face In The Crowd

**Disclaimer:** I do not own ‘Peaky Blinders’ or ‘Birdsong’ (BBC adaption rather than the book.)

 **Summary:** A familiar face in the crowd prompts an unwanted stroll down memory lane for our favourite Shelby brothers…

 **Warnings:** WW1, Canon-Typical Violence, Period-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death

**~ A FACE IN THE CROWD ~**

Thomas Shelby, Tommy to some, Mr Shelby to most, was a broken man.

At twenty-four years old he had answered his countries call for able-bodied young men alongside his brothers Arthur and John and had found himself in France, fighting in a war he couldn’t understand the point of for men who didn’t care whether or not he lived or died.

He’d already been a little bit cracked around the edges due to his rough upbringing but four long years of mud and pain, bloodshed and loss had left him shattered, his mind, body and soul pasted together by the exhausted doctors, nurses and orderlies at the field hospital.

Returning to his life as head of the notorious Shelby family had done little to help.

Grace’s lilting voice invaded his dark thoughts,

“Either your left leg is stronger than your right or we're making a getaway.”

Turning on the charm, something which didn’t come as naturally to him now as it had before the war had done its dirty work, he offered her a roguish grin as he responded,

“Neither.”

“I hope this doesn't involve razor blades.”

 _Ah, yes,_ Tommy chuckled silently to himself, _his family’s infamous weapon of choice._

“I've decided to move up in the world,” he informed her, carefully steering her towards their destination without making it obvious to the other couples enjoying themselves on the crowded dance floor that anything was at all amiss. “Become a legitimate businessman.”

Grace let out a bright laugh, a beautiful sound of merriment, before catching herself.

“My gosh,” she murmured. “You're serious.”

“I'm always serious.”

He hadn’t always been.

Before the war he’d enjoyed a joke as much as the next man, more often than not at the next man’s expense, but since returning from the Western Front he found it too difficult.

Once they’d reached the edge of the dance floor he released his hold on her slim body, turning to face the servant’s entrance where his brother Arthur appeared as planned.

There was blood, as was to be expected, but not enough to be alarming.

“We chased the Lees across the track, right the way down the Devon road,” Arthur reported proudly, his eyes bright as he handed the heavy satchels over. “We got every penny back.”

His eyes brightened even further when he saw Grace.

“Nice dress. You can wear that to my pub.”

Tommy felt his face lift into something resembling a smile of approval.

“Buy the boys a drink,” he instructed his second-in-command. “Anybody hurt?”

“A few cuts and bruises… _bloody hell_!” Arthur cut himself off with a shout, his eyes going wide as he fixed his gaze on a point further inside the room. “Is that Lieutenant Wraysford?”

“What?”

Tommy spun around to follow Arthur’s line of sight, his cerulean eyes searching the room.

“…who’s Lieutenant Wraysford?”

“He was our Commanding Officer for a while, in France,” Arthur answered Grace’s soft question, his voice trembling ever so slightly. “After Captain Weir was killed by a sniper.”

“Oh.”

Admitting defeat Tommy turned to frown at his brother,

“I don't see him…”

Arthur moved, pressing himself to Tommy’s side so that when he raised his arm to point out the former officer his brother couldn’t possibly be mistaken about who he was gesturing to.

“He's dancing with the woman in the green dress.”

And there he was.

“… _fuck_...”

It was as though no time had passed at all.

Put him in a uniform and splatter him with mud and they’d be back in France.

“What the bloody hells _he_ doing here?” Arthur muttered, both of them ignoring Grace in favour of watching their former officer effortlessly leading his partner around the floor. “Thought he was staying in France with that little bastard he fathered before the war?”

Yes, that was what Tommy heard as well.

“Obviously not,” he eventually pointed out, watching closely as Wraysford murmured something in his partners ear which made her throw her head back and laugh, drawing the attention of those around them. “But never mind that now. We have business to conclude.”

Arthur cleared his throat, following Tommy’s lead when he turned away from the couple.

“Right, then,” the oldest Shelby brother announced thickly. “I’ll go see to the boys.”

Clapping his brother on the shoulder as he ducked out of the servants entrance Tommy adjusted the heavy satchels of money on his right shoulder and offered his arm to Grace.

“Off we go, Lady Sarah.”

~ * ~

As far as the plan was concerned everything came together smoothly.

The same could not be said for the mental state of the three eldest Shelby brothers.

“Wraysford?” John choked on the beer he had been knocking back. “Are you sure?”

Arthur sighed, gulping down the remainder of his own drink before responding.

“Yup.”

“…fuck...”

“Yup.”

“Wraysford,” John mumbled, downing the last of his beer in three large swallows before reaching back to grab another from the crate sitting on the backseat. “Fucking _Wraysford_ …”

“Looked good, too,” Arthur muttered, throwing his empty bottle out of the moving vehicle whilst turning the wheel with his other hand to take them round a bend in the country road, following the truck carrying the boys. “Had a woman with him. Pretty. They seemed happy.”

“… _fuck_ …”

Of the three of them John had the least favourable opinion of Wraysford, an opinion which had stemmed from the day his orders had gotten Private Douglas, a friend of John’s, killed.

~ * ~

_“But, Tommy, we don’t need any practise shooting…”_

_“We don’t,” Tommy snorted in response to John’s grumbling as they, along with all of the other engineers working on this stretch of the line, reported for target practice. It had been decided, by Lieutenant Wraysford, that his infantrymen were not to be used in the tunnels anymore and, so, the engineers had to prove that they could defend themselves should the Germans ever breach any of their tunnels. It was both insulting and annoying. “But they do.”_

_‘They’ were their fellow engineers who were, to put it nicely, soft._

_The Shelby brothers had only been transferred to this company less than a month previously, taking them away from the men they had spent almost a year with and putting them with a group of strangers. As such they were still getting to know the group of mostly older soldiers._

_“Regimental Sergeant Major Price shall be taking you this morning, gentlemen,” Captain Weir, their commanding officer who was definitely a nancy boy, announced. Beside him stood Lieutenant Wraysford, cold and aloof. “Please, pay attention to what he has to say.”_

_“Sir.”_

_“Bloody ridiculous…” Arthur muttered, throwing down the last of his cigarette. “As if we…”_

_“Evans, Firebrace, Shaw and Shelby,” RSM Price read from the list of names he had obviously been provided with prior to their arrival. “You four are up first. Take up your firing positions.”_

_It was John that asked, boldly and rather lacking in respect,_

_“Which one?”_

_“Which_ what?”

_“Which Shelby?” John enquired with a smirk, gesturing to each of them in turn. Despite being the youngest of the three he was the only one with a wife and kids waiting for him back home; he hadn’t planned on either of those things but after he’d gotten Marth Driscoll pregnant when she was only fifteen the then seventeen-year-old John had been forced to marry her by his Mam shortly before she’d passed away. “Shelby, A. Shelby, J. Or Shelby, T?”_

_Price frowned, glancing further down his list._

_“Ah,” he finally muttered. “Shelby, A.”_

_Arthur cursed as he snatched the rifle that was offered to him by the boy called Tipper._

_“On the command, load,” Price instructed. “Safety catches off and open the bolt.”_

_Shaw chuckled, fumbling with his rifle,_

_“I’ve forgotten how you hold it.”_

_“Like you hold your sweetheart,” Bryce chuckled, already in position. “You know, like…”_

_“Quiet.”_

_John shared a look with Tommy as the RSM’s voice silenced the laughter._

_“Take the charger clip of five rounds and place it in the breech.”_

_By the time he had finished giving his first instruction Arthur was all ready to fire; the others, however, were content to wait for his further instructions before progressing. Firebrace, in particular, seemed to be struggling even with the first step let alone the ones that followed._

_“Push the rounds firmly into the magazine. Open the bolt. Close the bolt. Safety catches on.”_

_“Douglas,” John muttered to his friend, a baby faced boy of twenty. “Give him a hand, eh?”_

_Douglas nodded, agreeing, and moved over to crouch beside the struggling engineer._

_“Check the safety catches, boys. Good. The weapon is now loaded.”_

_“No kidding,” Arthur muttered, rolling his eyes. “Good thing the targets can’t shoot back…”_

_“Fire!”_

_Clouds of dust and dirt sprung up behind three of the targets as the bullets went wide._

_Arthurs bullets, however, struck the target one after another; the first just above the centre, the second to the left, the third to the right, the fourth just below and the fifth dead centre._

_“Miles away.”_

_“No they fucking weren’t,” Arthur, the first to finish, snorted. “Just you wait and see.”_

_Shaw cursed as he fumbled with the trigger, prompting a round of laughter._

_“His fingers too fat for the trigger.”_

_“Hope you don’t have that problem anywhere else, Mr Shaw!”_

_“Don’t hold it like you were in a penny arcade,” Wraysford suddenly scolded poor Firebrace who ducked his head in obvious discomfort. “Tuck it under your shoulder. No, tuck it under.”_

_John sneered as the officer physically manhandled the rifle into a more proper position._

_“Tuck it in.”_

_“Fire!”_

_“Already have,” Arthur muttered, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “Didn’t you notice?”_

_At least Firebrace shot off his last shot and, miracle of miracles, actually hit the target._

_“Hey, good man!” Douglas praised him with a broad smile. “Not bad.”_

_“It’s all muscle from that hard digging we do,” Evans announced, smirking over his shoulder at the men running the range. “While you boys are nancying around upstairs that does it.”_

_“Anytime you want to swap places, mate?”_

_“No thanks,” Evans responded as a shot sounded. “At least we get some peace down there.”_

_“Unload. Close the action, safety catches on and rest your rifles.”_

_Once again Arthur completed the required movements in half the time that it took the other three soldiers even though he had a cigarette pinched between the fingers of his right hand._

_“Douglas, check the targets.”_

_“Shall we make this interesting?” John suggested, watching his friend as the younger man made his way across to collect the paper targets from the posts. Wraysford, overhearing him, frowned across at him. “Best shot pays for the tarts next time we make it into town?”_

_Tommy snorted, placing his hand in his brothers and giving it a single shake._

_“You’re on,” he agreed confidently. “You haven’t beaten me in years.”_

_Evans frowned deeply, getting up to his knees as he commented,_

_“That’s not much cop if that’s all we get to practise shooting at Fritz in the tunnels.”_

_“Suits me,” Firebrace announced. “I came here to dig, not hold a gun.”_

_It was a miracle Wraysford’s neck didn’t crack with how quickly he turned to face the man._

_“You’ll do what I say is it’s needed.”_

_Wisely Firebrace decided to respond only with, “Sir.”_

_“He’s a cold bastard,” Shaw muttered once the officer in question had strode out the back of the range, heading back towards the trench system they had all left behind. “You’d think…”_

_“He’s a queer one, all right,” John sneered, spitting on the ground. “Bet he can’t even shoot.”_

_Firebrace sighed loudly,_

_“He’s just trying to get through this war like the rest of us.”_

_Byrne, one of the infantrymen, snorted,_

_“I’d rather him than Florence back there.”_

_A glance told all of the engineers that the young Welshman was referring to Captain Weir._

_“Captain Weir’s all right,” Shaw defended their commanding officer. “Knows his stuff.”_

_“About digging tunnels, anyway,” Tommy muttered. “Not about much else, though.”_

_A distant ‘_ thump’ _warned them moments before a shell hit on the far side of the range._

_“Jesus Christ! Don’t Frit ever stop for tea?”_

_“Nor for breakfast,” Tipper, the baby of the group, mumbled. “Nor dinner.”_

_It was then that a second shell hit, closer this time, and they could do nothing but watch as poor Douglas was thrown up into the air as he hurried back towards them. John wasn’t the only one to cry out in shock as he watched his friend’s body fall into the crater left behind by the explosion; poor Tipper let out a sound like a wounded animal and had to be held back._

_As it was Wraysford, of all people, took off towards Douglas whilst the others stayed back._

_Nothing could be done for him._

_Poor Douglas died before the medics reached him._

~ * ~

John had never forgiven Wraysford for what had happened that day.

“…fucking _Wraysford_ …”

Arriving back at Watery Lane the decision was made, without any form of verbal discussion between the brothers, to head over to the Garrison for a much needed evening of drinking.

The car would be perfectly safe outside the pub despite the unsavoury elements which were known to frequent it; no one was stupid enough to try and steal a piece of Shelby property.

Arthur led the way, just as he had always tried to, pushing the door open with enough force to send it crashing into the wall. All eyes turned to face them before hurriedly moving away.

Normally he walked with the confidence of ten men.

People avoided him, more so than his younger brothers, due to his penchant for violence.

He was a strong man.

Deadly.

And yet as he stepped into the pub that afternoon he stumbled, eyes going wide.

There was a figure stood at the bar that he hadn’t seen in years.

A man dressed in a mud stained khaki uniform and a mustard yellow knitted pullover.

A man with pale skin, dark eyes, dark hair and a dark moustache.

A man with a bloody hole in the centre of his forehead.

“No…”

“Arthur?” John called out from behind him, concerned. “Arthur? What’s wrong?”

“He can’t be…” Arthur mumbled, physically stumbling towards the bar. “He’s dead…”

Not one person spoke, eyes carefully averted so as not to watch John as he physically took hold of his brother, dragging him into the private room that he and his family used for their business meetings. Once inside he pushed Arthur down into one of the wooden chairs and leaned over him, placing his hands on his brothers shoulders and giving them a firm shake.

“Arthur! What’s wrong with you?”

“Weir!” Arthur gasped, his entire body spasming wildly. “Weir! He’s at the bar! He’s…”

“He’s dead!” John cried out, pushing his brother back into the chair and holding him steady. “He’s dead and buried in France, Arthur. Captain Weirs not here. He died two years ago…”

“But…but I saw him…” Arthur all but groaned. _“I saw him!”_

“It’s not real!” John snapped. “It’s just in your head, Arthur. It’s not real!”

Captain Weir had made it through three years of war without a scratch.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he’d forgotten the dangerous situation that they were in and had stepped up onto a bench to get out of someone’s way and had been killed by a sniper.

And it was his death that had led to Wraysford being in the tunnels with them that night.

The night they thought they’d lost Tommy.

~ * ~

_“Any sign of Captain Weir’s replacement?”_

_As one the three Shelby brothers looked up from their game of cards, taking in the exhausted looking figure of Jack Firebrace as he stood frowning down at them, and shook their heads._

_“No,” Tommy muttered, throwing away a card and taking another from the deck, hissing softly as he didn’t get the result that he’d been hoping for. “We’ll have to go down alone.”_

_“We can’t go down alone,” Firebrace argued. “We need an officer in charge of the party.”_

_“No we fucking don’t,” John snorted. “Weir was useful; anyone else will just slow us down.”_

_“I don’t know why you’re complaining, Shelby,” Shaw commented from where he was sat on a box of dynamite calmly writing a letter home to his wife. “You’re not going down tonight.”_

_“We need an officer to come down with us,” Firebrace reiterated as firmly as the natural soft spoken man could. “Shaw? Tommy? You’re going down tonight; who do you want with us?”_

_“Wraysford.”_

_“What?” John scoffed at his brothers answers. “Tommy, Wraysford’s a…”_

_“Good officer who will trust us to get the job done and will leave us alone to do it,” Tommy responded, taking a puff from his cigarette. “Any of the other officers would try to interfere.”_

_“He’s right, Jack,” Shaw agreed, pointing his pencil at Tommy. “Plus, he’s a lucky bugger.”_

_“Alright,” Firebrace murmured. “I’ll go ask him to come down with us. You get things ready.”_

_It should have been a simple night’s work; check the tunnel is still fit for purpose, make any necessary repairs to the support beams and extend the listening post a couple more yards._

_Sadly, it turned out to be anything but a simple night’s work._

_Wraysford ended up being the last to arrive at the entrance to the tunnel, hidden within a simple looking dugout at the centre of the maze of trenches. He carried his haversack as though it were a teddy, wrapping both of his arms around it like he was a frightened child._

_Firebrace stepped out to meet him,_

_“Ready, sir.”_

_Despite being the last to arrive it was Wraysford that led their ragtag group into the dugout, the young infantryman who had been selected from the ranks to accompany them following._

_“Drew the short straw again, Byrne?”_

_“I’ve sort of got used to it.”_

_Shaw snorted,_

_“We’ll make a tunneller out of you yet.”_

_“I might have to take you up on that,” the young man murmured, his voice severely lacking in its usual fire and warmth. “That’s if the milk round doesn’t want me when this is over.”_

_“Are you sure?” Shaw responded, using his hammer to tap the boy’s helmet where he was holding it unwittingly over his crotch even as Firebrace began to descend down the ladder. “There’s no happy housewife on the Piccadilly Line waiting to grab your bottle, you know?”_

_His words had the desired effect of bringing a smile to the young man’s handsome face._

_Tommy, the lone Shelby in the group that evening, snorted as he finished off his cigarette._

_Once they’d all descended the long metal ladder and had arrived in the damp, dark ante-chamber they’d created at its base Tommy was sent on ahead to light the candles which lined with walls of the main tunnel and provided the only light they would have to work by._

_Some of the men hated doing that job but he didn’t mind it, venturing out into the pitch black as quietly as he could just in case the Germans had a listening tunnel nearby. In fact, compared to the hellfire above ground the darkness seemed endlessly peaceful at times._

_“Let’s play Fritz,” Shaw whispered a few paces behind him, the cheerful character bringing up the lead of the main group. Reaching the end of the main tunnel he paused by the smaller listening tunnel to wait for them, the candle he had been using to light the others in his hand. “He’s twenty-five, married with two kids. He’s about ten yards from the chamber giving it the vonce-over because his Boche captain is too lazy and is snoring in his bunk.”_

_“I saw there’s four of them,” Byrne put in his opinion from his position second in the main group. “And they’re sat on their arses twiddling their thumbs waiting for this to be over.”_

_Evans, carrying the canary in its cage which would alert them to a lack of oxygen by dying, didn’t appreciate their jovial mood and snapped as much as you could in whisper format,_

_“Let’s just get this done and get out, eh?”_

_Shaw entered the listening tunnel first, lighting the second lot of candles as he went, and everyone followed behind him, crawling on their hands and knees as quietly as they could._

_This time Tommy ended up towards the middle of the group with Evans, Byrne and Shaw in front of him and Firebrace and Wraysford behind him. When they finally reached the end of the tunnel everyone moved as quietly as they could into a comfortable position, sitting with their bacs pressed against the rough walls of the tunnel whilst Shaw got out his stethoscope._

_A long moment of silence passed._

_Tommy closed his eyes, focusing solely on what he could hear._

_There was something…_

_He couldn’t quite put his finger on it…_

_Shaw muttered something, prompting Tommy to open his eyes just in time to see his friend look back over his shoulder as them and give a gesture to say that he could hear anything._

_Firebrace wasn’t convinced,_

_“Listen again.”_

_Neither was Tommy._

_And, unfortunately, they were proven right when a moment later they heard footsteps._

_As one they held their breath, listening as the footsteps turned into muffled voices._

_“Footsteps going back,” Firebrace reported from where he had pressed his ear to the wall of the tunnel, splitting their attention between him and the sounds. “They’ve laid a charge.”_

_Shit._

_Noise levels were no longer an issue, all six of them turning to head back as quickly as they could, but unfortunately they had learned of the German’s intentions too late to save them._

_The world exploded, a plume of smoke enveloping them seconds before the tunnel collapsed._

_Tommy didn’t even have time to cry out._

_Something long and hard, a wooden beam most probably, struck him across his back._

_He fell forwards, the air leaving his lungs involuntarily as he found himself pinned to the hard ground. Rocks, both small and large, fell all over him, slicing his skin and coating him in dust._

_And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped._

_Was this how he was to meet his end?_

_Buried underground?_

_Trapped?_

_Unable to move?_

_Unable to breath?_

_He whimpered._

_He couldn’t help it._

_In that moment he wasn’t the Thomas Shelby who had left his rapidly blossoming career as a criminal to serve his country. He was simply Tommy, a terrified boy who wanted to go home._

_Someone grunted behind him._

_He heard debris moving._

_And then a voice,_

_“Who’s there?”_

_Wraysford._

_He wasn’t the only one that had survived the explsion and subsequent collapse/_

_“Is there someone? Who’s there?”_

_“Firebrace, sir. I was supposed to get you out of here.”_

_Tommy gasped, choking loudly on the dust coating his entire face._

_“Who was that?”_

_“Shelby, sir,” Tommy managed to respond, his voice painfully dry. “I’m pinned down.”_

_“Right,” Wraysford mumbled, sounding dazed. “What happened?”_

_“Camouflet explosion,” Firebrace answered clinically. “Won’t be the only one, sir.”_

_Tentatively Tommy attempted to move his arms, finding that whilst his left was pinned underneath the same beam that lay across his back his right was only under a few rocks._

_Once he’d knocked them free he began to feel along the beam as best he could, trying to figure out if he could get himself free. There wasn’t anything on top of it up near his head, as far as he could tell, and so he pushed his torso up off of the floor to see it the beam could be shifted. Something groaned, not a person, more like wood as it was stretched to its breaking point. He froze, worried that he could bring the entire world above down on them if he did anything more, and then there were hands in his face, pulling the beam up off of his back._

_“Quickly,” Wraysford, sounding rather unsteady, ordered. “Move.”_

_“Get out while you can,” Firebrace called out as Tommy pulled himself across the ground, gritting his teeth against the pain. It felt as though one of not both of his legs were broken below the knees, his boots dragging across the ground, but eventually he was free of his confinement and Wraysford was able to lower the beam to the floor. That done he turned at returned to where Firebrace lay on his back, buried up to his waist by an alarming amount of rubble. “All the others are dead. They’ve got us marked out, all right. You leave me here, sir.”_

_“No,” Wraysford responded, moving one of the pieces off of him whilst gesturing for Tommy to assist him. “You’ve got to help us get out of here. Shelby, can you help me pull him out?”_

_“I don’t know if…” Tommy grunted, attempting to get to his feet only to have both of his legs go out from under him, sending him down to his knees with a below of pain. “No, sir, sorry…”_

_“No matter,” Wraysford sighed. “Firebrace, take my arm.”_

_Tommy would admit, much later, to being impressed that the young officer had enough strength to pull the trapped man out from underneath the rubble and then, with Tommy following, along the entire length of the listening tunnel and out into the main tunnels._

_“We’re in the middle prong,” Firebrace announced. “About halfway down.”_

_“Yeah,” Tommy grunted in agreement. “We’ll have to…”_

_“Sir, there are three tunnels, shaped like a fork,” Firebrace, who’s legs were in a horrific state if the blood Tommy had had to pull himself through whilst he followed them was any sign, explained firmly in the almost completely pitch black tunnel, a couple of cracks of light coming through from the ceiling which in itself should be quite worrying. They were, after all, a long way underground. “This tunnel leads to the second gallery, about half a mile from the entrance. Then there’s a lateral section, joins the three prongs. You’ll have to fetch help…”_

_“No,” Wraysford argued. “You’re coming with me. Shelby, can you manage alone?”_

_“As long as you don’t need speed,” Tommy muttered in response. “Then yes, sir, I can.”_

_“Good. Put your arm around my shoulder, Firebrace. Around me.”_

_In the end Tommy had no trouble keeping up with Wraysford as he carried Firebrace on his back even though the officer was walking and he was dragging himself along by his arms; every step the other man took was unsteady, both from his own injuries and the weight on his back. Tommy couldn’t stop himself from crying out every now and then, not always in response to the pain from his broken legs but also from the straining of his arm muscles and the tenderness of the flesh on his right hip which was being torn to ribbons by the rock floor._

_Both Tommy and Firebrace gave the officer instructions of which way to go and, eventually, they reached the point where the tunnel they were in should meet the one crossing them._

_Only it was a dead end._

_“It’s the wrong way,” Wraysford all but sobbed, stumbling sideways and literally dropping Firebrace onto the ground. The injured man, whose voice had been getting quieter and quieter the further along they went, pulled himself back to rest against the tunnel wall. Tommy, truly exhausted, moved to join him. “You’ve brought us the wrong fucking way.”_

_“It’s the right way,” Firebrace argued weakly, sadness filling his voice. His head flopped to one side, thudding against Tommy’s shoulder, and he didn’t seem to have enough strength to lift it back up again. “But when the second explosion when off it blocked the way out.”_

_Tommy didn’t remember a second explosion._

_His head was throbbing in time with his rapid heartbeat…_

_His hands stinging from the number of tiny cuts covering them…_

_His hip was burning…_

_And the less said about the pain in his legs the better…_

_“I will not die in a fucking tunnel!”_

_Tommy flinched._

_He, the big tough Peaky Blinder, flinched in response to Wraysford’s desperate shout._

_“Rest a while, sir,” Firebrace advised through quick, weak breaths that only seemed to be getting quicker and weaker. With every passing moment. “You’ll just exhaust yourself.”_

_“I loved a woman once,” Wraysford announced suddenly a few moments later, breaking the silence which had fallen around them in what could potentially be their tomb. It would have been a strange thing to come out with under any other circumstances but, faced with what was almost certain death, it wasn’t strange at all. “Very much, you see. And she loved me.”_

_Smiling, content to dwell on happier things now that he faced his end, Firebrace asked,_

_“What else is there?”_

_“I have a daughter.”_

_“Do you, sir?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Then you have something to live for, sir.”_

_Tommy winced, reminded suddenly that Firebrace’s own son had died a couple of years ago._

_“We’ve got to try and get out of here,” Wraysford announced, his voice suddenly filled with determination. He fumbled with his belt, searching for something, and then suddenly they were blinded by the glare of his torch. “I’m going to go and see what I can find. Stay here.”_

_Only once the officer had stumbled away did Tommy let out a chuckle._

_“Stay here,” he repeated the simple order. “What, does he think we know a secret way out?”_

_Firebrace chuckled weakly before gasping sharply in pain._

_“Hey, come here,” Tommy ordered, pulling the older man towards him until with a grunt of pain from both of them he managed to drag Firebrace’s body over his right leg and settle the other man between his legs, encouraging him to lean back against his chest so that his head was pillowed in the curve where his neck joined his shoulder. “How’s that, Jack? Any better?”_

_“Yeah,” Firebrace sighed. “Thanks.”_

_After what felt like an eternity Wraysford returned._

_“Firebrace?” he called out as he stumbled back to kneel in front of them. “Shelby?”_

_“What can you see?”_

_“Boxes of explosives,” Wraysford answered Firebrace’s question with a grin. “Ammonal.”_

_Ammonal._

_Tommy couldn’t hold back a bark of laughter as even Firebrace chuckled._

_Ammonal was a powerful explosive, made up of ammonium nitrate and aluminium powder, and would definitely have the blasting capabilities required to create a way out for them._

_“How many?”_

_“Hundreds.”_

_He’d found a store room or, quite possibly, one of the mines they’d been building._

_“One box will blow a hole big enough to get us out of here,” Firebrace explained through his weak chuckles. An expression, a mixture of relief and disbelief, appeared on Wraysford’s face. “Move the rest down to the entrance of the blast will kill us. Do it. Go on, be quick, sir.”_

_He stumbled away, instinctively obeying the order, and the two wounded sappers listened as he lifted, carried and dragged the heavy wooden boxes through the vast network of tunnels._

_“Firebrace!” he suddenly called out, his voice echoing. “Shelby, keep Firebrace awake!”_

_“Yes, sir!”_

_“I’m not getting out of here, Tommy,” Firebrace mumbled, turning his head so that his eyes were pressed against Tommy’s neck, his damp eyelashes tickling lightly. “I don’t think I…”_

_“You have to hold on,” Tommy urged him. “For Wraysford’s sake if not your own.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“He’s doing this for you,” he pointed out simply. “He wants to get you out of here.”_

_“And here I am doing this for him,” Firebrace chuckled weakly. “And you, of course.”_

_“Of course.”_

_“…were you really a criminal before the war?”_

_“Who told you that?”_

_Firebrace leaned back to meet his gaze as he answered,_

_“I heard John threatening someone once. Claimed you were all infamous back home.”_

_“We are,” Tommy agreed. “We’re the Peaky Blinders, a street gang or at least that’s what we’re going to call ourselves after the war. Our whole family operate on the wrong side of the law most of the time. We’re bookkeepers, running illegal betting on races we can fix.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Why do you want to know?”_

_“I don’t know,” Firebrace admitted. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?”_

_Tommy grunted in response._

_“We’re all the same now,” Firebrace continued morosely. “Lambs for their slaughterhouse.”_

_A series of distant explosions broke the silence that had settled around them like a blanket, the wall behind Tommy’s back trembling with each and every one._

_At long last Wraysford returned to them._

_“I’ve moved them,” he reported, exhaustion making his voice thick. “Now, how do I do it?”_

_“Break a box of ammonol,” Firebrace answered. “And lay a trail of powder across the top.”_

_“The fuse line needs to be a hundred yards at least if we’re gonna be clear,” Tommy added, absently running his hand up and down Firebrace’s arm. “Otherwise the blast will kill us.”_

_“Thank you, Firebrace.”_

_“Jack. My name’s Jack.”_

_“Thank you, Jack.”_

_Wraysford met Tommy’s eyes deliberately._

_“Thomas,” he supplied his name automatically. “Tommy.”_

_“Tommy,” Wraysford repeated with a smile. “Thank you, Tommy.”_

_“I made a beautiful boy,” Firebrace announced all of a sudden, his hands grabbing hold of the arm that Tommy had wrapped loosely around his waist to keep him pulled back against his chest. His voice held a pain the like of which Tommy had never heard before; it was the pain that only a parent could feel after the loss of their child. “John. He was the best of me.”_

_Wraysford reached out to place a hand gently on top of one of his._

_“There is nothing more, sir. To love and be loved.”_

_In the time it took Wraysford to lay the fuse, which could have been a few minutes or a few hours in the darkness, a horrible rattling sound began to creep into Firebrace’s weak breaths._

_“Jack,” Tommy murmured in his ear. “Is there anything…do you want me to…”_

_“Tell my wife I’m with our son,” Firebrace managed to gasp out, reaching up to paw at the pocket of his tunic until Tommy reached up and retrieved a latter. “That I’ll look after him.”_

_“I’ll tell her.”_

_The final time that Wraysford returned to them, pouring out the last of the fuse powder, Tommy could feel that Firebrace was near his end, each breath barely moving his ribcage._

_Wraysford smiled emotionally down at the mortally wounded member of their group,_

_“We’re getting out, Jack.”_

_A huffed breath..._

_A weak smile…_

_“There you are…”_

_Only he wasn’t speaking to the young officer kneeling in front of them._

_“John…”_

_He sounded…content…_

_“John...”_

_He exhaled one final time…_

_Wraysford visibly trembled._

_“He’s gone, sir,” Tommy murmured, holding still at the officer reached out to close the dead man’s eyes before carefully manoeuvring himself out from behind him. “He’s with his son.”_

_“Yes,” Wraysford gasped thickly. “I wish…”_

_“I know…”_

_A deep sigh, one that echoed through the tunnel and then,_

_“Let’s get out of here.”_

~ * ~

It had worked, obviously, and Wraysford had pulled Tommy free of their tomb.

Arthur and John had believed that their brother was dead for two weeks, had even written home to console their Aunt Polly and younger brother, Finn. It had only been when Tipper had found them, talking a mile a minute about miracles and Wraysford and Tommy that they’d found out the truth; that he was in a field hospital waiting for a boat home like them.

The war had been over by then.

That night, rather than drink in honour of a good days work, they drank to forget the past.

And a few streets away, the taste of opium still upon his lips, Tommy woke from a brutally vivid dream of that day and the ones that follow it for whilst they’d been struggling to find a way to the surface the way had come to an end at long last. This wasn’t a comfort to them, however, for the men that had died that day had died needlessly; if the war had ended only a day earlier then Firebrace, Evans, Byrne, Shaw and Firebrace would have survived the war.

Sitting up in his small bed he poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“I hope you all found the peace you deserved,” he murmured, holding it up to the sky as he thought of the friends and comrades he had lost. His mind then turned to the man who he had chanced to see earlier that day. “And I hope your life is everything you had hope for.”

Tossing the drink back in one go he lay back down to try and get some sleep.

He had a busy day, week, month, _year_ ahead of him if everything went to plan.

**~ THE END ~**

**A/N** So this one-shot has been tumbling around in the back of my brain for a while, ever since my friend convinced me that Peaky Blinders was better than I had assumed and got me to watch it, leading me to become rather obsessed along with everyone else. I had the urge to write their war story and then, as my brain often does, a crossover idea popped up and here we are. It’s a one shot, I’m not planning anything more, and I hope you enjoyed it.


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